


Fifteen

by RydiaDragmire



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 06:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3968107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RydiaDragmire/pseuds/RydiaDragmire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a young chorus girl in the Jidooran Opera, Maria sneaks out with friends for an evening aboard the Blackjack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fifteen

Maria is fifteen, the first time she talks to him.

‘Talks’ is too strong a word, perhaps. _Listens to. Stares at._ These are more apt.

She and the other chorus girls have been invited out for the evening by a cadre of older boys, the sort who have never heard ‘no’ in their lives; whose parents’ vast fortunes have paved the way for their every want to be met without hesitation. The girls are flattered, of course. She and the three other particularly lovely ones are asked, and how can they decline? These are older men. _Richer_ men. Worldly gentlemen of sixteen and seventeen. Never mind that chorus girls are practice girls. They know where they stand in the hierarchy. But just once, it would be grand to be _worth_ something.

So they sneak out after curfew, the four of them, hoping the Impresario won’t notice them missing from the dormitories of the ballet corps. They can barely stifle their giggles, dressing gowns pulled over their richly embroidered attire. Their dresses are fanciful, better suited to the stage because they’ve been plucked from the grand costume hall, but they have nothing else fine to wear. They’ve picked believable ones, no grand skirted gowns as a leading lady might don. The four of them are young and fresh and look very nearly like mischievous fairies when they cast aside their robes in the carriage the boys have picked them up in.

When the eldest fellow tells the assembled company that they’re visiting the Blackjack casino, the girls nearly squeal. _It’s so glamorous,_ they whisper amongst themselves. But better still is that it’s _forbidden_. Maria is the youngest of them, and if her age was apparent they wouldn’t even be allowed inside. She thanks the gods that she’s covered her youthful face in make-up. Beneath the heavy winged eyeliner and darkened lashes are bright blue eyes, piercing and inquisitive.

She holds her breath when they walk in, stands straight and tall and is glad that she’s reached what is likely to be her full height at this age. She is an actress. She was meant for the stage. Playing an older woman should be easy. She summons all the confidence she doesn’t feel, and their group enters unmolested.

Maria is the prettiest one, and so she is the prize given to the eldest boy of the group, a strapping young man of seventeen with jet black hair and a ready sneer when things won’t go his way. She sits on his lap, arms around his neck, and blows on his dice for luck when he throws them. She sips champagne she could never afford and shouts with the rest of the table whenever anyone’s made a big win. She likes the ambiance – they all cheer for each other and mourn together when losing money to the house. A band plays up-tempo music with dark, romantic brass, and she wishes she could stay here forever.

She knows the Wandering Gambler by reputation. Everyone does. He’s as mythic a figure as Jidoor ever had, and every socialite wants him at their parties. He is debauchery and mystery and fascination, the favorite object of gossip among the moneyed elite. She knows, too, that he comes to every opening night of the opera, and it is one of the few social things he does alone. The rest of the time, as now, he has one or more pretty girls with him. Tonight there’s a blonde and a redhead, one on each arm, and they fawn over him and giggle madly. Maria wonders if they’re drunk or just stupid.

And he practically ignores them, except for the occasional acknowledging smirk that makes them both sigh in unison. He keeps a watchful eye on everything, drinks with the right people and makes everyone feel like they’re close, personal friends that he’s invited over in good fun. She can tell because every time he leaves a group, they’re all smiles and they seem to forget how much money they’re losing to _his_ dealers on _his_ ship. He’s clever. She admires it.

It’s not until later in the evening that he sits to play poker with the high rollers. It’s a special privilege, one that every man thinks himself worthy of, though not all of them can afford the buy-in to play. Maria’s date is fool enough to attempt, and she dutifully accompanies him, standing behind his chair with her hand on his shoulder until he shrugs her off. She’s not distracted by the chips that make others forget precisely what it is they’re wagering. They’re collectively betting more money than she’s ever seen in her life, or even dreamed of.

The other chorus girls gather in a gaggle behind her. The game has attracted the attention of the entire casino. Everyone is respectfully silent, save for the odd murmur. Setzer regards all of his competitors with a smirk that says everything and nothing all at once, and it’s worse than keeping a straight face. They’re all unnerved, and she can tell as much. Reputation does a great deal for a man.

She wonders for a moment where his ridiculous hangers-on have gotten to, and it takes her a second to pick them out in the crowd across the table. Their hair is mussed, their pinned coiffures now hanging in mad waves about their shoulders. One bites her fingernail while she watches him play, and Maria knows that if she stood anywhere near them they would both smell of sex and of each other.

“Why so silent?” Setzer teases the room. “It’s not a funeral. Just a game.”

“Just a game to you, maybe,” one of his opponents counters, and this coaxes awkward laughter from the assembled crowd. Because Setzer’s winning, he’s going to win, and they all know it. He’ll throw a couple of hands to keep the other gentlemen hopeful, but he’ll ultimately best them all. He won’t do it too quickly. He’ll make sure they enjoy themselves.

Maria thinks again of the two women. _Will they feel the same as these men playing against him?_ she wonders. _Was that what he’d done with them, too? Strung them along and kept them hopeful? Made sure it wasn’t over too quickly?_ But he bested them, and at the end of the day that was all that mattered. He was above them all, literally and figuratively. He didn’t need their love or their approval.

She wished she could feel that way.

The Gambler looks past the men around him for a moment, looks right at Maria with her hand on her date’s chair and her wide blue eyes and gives her such a small, quick smile that she’s not sure if she imagined it. She studies him intently, every movement of his violet eyes and the curve of his mouth, and he offers nothing in return. No hint. No clue that he had ever graced her with that flash of teeth she could have sworn she saw.

The game seems to last an eternity, but it never stops being riveting. Her date loses, of course, because what other outcome could there be? But he can’t simply have been pleased with having a good time; all he can go on about is how he’ll win next time, _next time,_ and Maria sighs because how could she have ever thought he was handsome when he acts so like a child?

She offers the requisite attention to her young man on the carriage ride back, and he vacillates between complaining at his major loss and gloating over the hands he _did_ win, and godesses it is _boring_. She’s nothing but a pretty ornament to him, she realizes – a transaction that he’s bought and paid for because that’s what one _does_ with chorus girls. They are mistresses, never wives. They are baubles, never equals. She’ll listen to him because she has to, because it’s the way things are done, but it grates on her.

The girls are sneaking back in to the dormitory just before the sun rises, changing into their regular clothes in the costume hall. They’ll go straight to breakfast and pretend they’ve all simply awoken early, but they have chattering to do before then, lest anyone hear their conversation and surmise where they’ve been. They talk about every detail, as young ladies with worthwhile gossip are wont to do. And when the topic of Setzer comes up, Maria feels her face flush immediately and she can’t understand why.

“I thought he would be _much_ more handsome,” one girl bemoans. “He might have been, once, but who can tell under those scars?”

“Still, he _is_ rich,” chimes in another. “And unique-looking isn’t bad, I suppose. I would be his mistress, if it meant living like that.”

“And have to deal with those purple eyes staring at you?” counters the third, pulling her petticoat on over her head.

“…it wouldn’t be so bad,” Maria adds quietly, and the third girl laughs.

“Are you _blushing_ , Maria? Do you have a little crush? Who knew you had such strange taste!”

“Not strange at all,” the second girl taunts. “She likes money. Who can blame her? We _all_ do.” She pats Maria on the head in mock sisterly affection, and Maria pushes her hand away. “Good luck getting him to notice you as a chorus girl. He only goes after the leading lady, _everyone_ knows that.”

Maria’s cheeks burn, but she says nothing, only falls into step with the girls as they make for the kitchen to get some breakfast before rehearsals start. There is a strange warmth in the pit of her stomach that she can’t understand. And it gets worse every time she recalls his smile.


End file.
